


your naked magic (oh dear lord)

by heavensgate



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Failboats In Love, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensgate/pseuds/heavensgate
Summary: Operation: Get Patrick A Girlfriend fails on the first step when Pete accidentally gives Patrick a love potion instead of a confidence elixir.or the Valentine’s Day AU where Pete tries his best, Patrick buys coffee four times a day, Joe is a good friend, and there’s Andy the ginger tabby cat.





	your naked magic (oh dear lord)

Patrick had fallen asleep past closing time again, dozing in his little corner in the shop right behind the merchandise rack full of mugs and stuffed toys that Joe insists on selling like they were some sort of corporate presence like the Starbucks a few doors down. Pete didn’t mind Patrick sleeping here though, it meant he could bother Patrick without Joe breathing down his neck, reminding Pete he should be working and not flirting with his customers while he’s on the clock (which was false by the way, Pete has never flirted with any of the customers no matter what Joe thought. Pete’s just  _friendly_ , which is the exact reason why Joe had hired Pete to work the front during peak times, while Joe sulked in the backroom and does accounting).

So Pete does his usual night routine first; mopping up the spilled drinks from the day, wiping the tables, throwing the trash in the alley behind the shop. When Pete turns to face Patrick, he’s still asleep, snoring softly to himself. Pete figures he can find something else to do to make time drag a little bit longer, not having the heart to wake Patrick up— he overworked himself to death if the fact that he could still fall asleep with the amount of coffee he bought in a day said anything.

Pete’s in the middle of rearranging the mugs by color instead of price purely to spite Joe tomorrow when Patrick stirs, slowly opening his eyes and probably wondering to himself where he was before realizing he had fallen asleep in-store again. Pete waits until Patrick is half-awake, rising from the table to fix his things, when Pete pounces with the question he’s been dying to ask the whole day.

“So, when are you going to ask Allie out?” Pete asks from behind the merchandise rack, leering at Patrick who just scowled at Pete in reply as he pulled his fedora further down his head to hide the red glow of his ears. Pete was delighted; Pete didn’t know anyone who blushed harder than Patrick, he was like a glowing red traffic light but instead of stopping, Pete just keeps pushing.

“I’m not.” Patrick said, clipped, slipping his papers into his briefcase in the most dignified manner he can with dried drool sticking to the bottom corner of his mouth.

“C’mon.” Pete whined, drawing it out to three syllables more than it was supposed to be, moving into Patrick’s personal space which only made Patrick blush harder, the red spreading all over his face—  _Score_. “Everyone knows you like her, even Andy knows it.”

“Andy is a cat.” is all Patrick said in reply, firmly pushing Pete away with a shove to the chest. Patrick finally finishes fixing his things and he closes his briefcase with a very final sounding snap. If this had been half a year ago, Pete would have backed off, told Patrick goodnight, locked the door, and hid underneath the counter, reading Joe’s books until he arrived, but it was now, and that meant making Patrick miserable and red-faced was Pete’s life purpose.

“Aw, don’t say that. Andy will cry about it later.” Pete said, leaning on the counter to watch Patrick do a last minute double-check to make sure all of his things were on him, patting the insides of his jacket and inspecting the table and surrounding floor. Pete’s told Patrick hundreds of times he can just keep whatever Patrick’s forgotten and return it the next day but Patrick always ignores him. “I know he looks tough but he’s a sensitive little dude.”

The comment just makes Patrick snort and look up to meet Pete’s gaze, eyes lit with amusement. “Oh no, we can’t let that happen.” Patrick quirks an eyebrow, trying hard not to laugh. Patrick’s expectantly holding his briefcase in one hand and his fedora is perched safely on his head, ready to go.

“Don’t change the topic. Valentine’s day is like, in three days?” Pete said as he led Patrick out like he was supposed to thirty minutes ago during closing time. Pete continues to talk, opening the door to let Patrick pass through, “I can help you out with Allie if you want—”

“Don’t.” Patrick said, quickly turning around to face Pete, managing to interrupt Pete even though Pete wasn’t about to say anything. “You would be the  _worst_  wingman ever.”

“I introduced Joe to Marie! Reminder: they’re married now.”

“You said it was Andy who did that.”

“Andy’s just a cat!”

“Don’t say that,” Patrick teased, rolling his eyes, but his lips were quirked up. “He’s a sensitive little dude.”

Pete doesn’t reply, just pouts and crosses his arms, leaning on the entrance as Patrick beamed at him, annoyance already forgotten, “Thanks for letting me nap again. Really, if it’s ever any trouble, just wake me up and tell me to fuck off. I seriously won’t mind.”

It’s Pete’s turn to roll his eyes, he rolls them far back his head he’s sure all Patrick could see were the whites of his eyes and he bats a hand at Patrick. “I told you, I’m pretty sure the place is haunted, I like having company while I lock up.”

“You just want bait to throw at the ghosts if they ever attack you.” Patrick replies dryly already turning away to walk home to his apartment a couple of blocks away.

“Maybe I want a witness to when they kill me!” Pete shouts at Patrick’s retreating figure. “You like Allie and I’m going to help you with that!”

Patrick doesn’t reply anymore but Pete listens to him laugh loudly, loud enough that the noise they’re making out here would give them a noise complaint since the wicked old lady who lives in the apartment next door seemed to detest Pete specifically. Pete watches Patrick laugh, shoulders shaking, as Patrick raises a hand to say goodbye.

 

Pete thinks Coffee’s for Closers during closing time, around the times where Pete’s cleaning up while Patrick naps, between the time Patrick leaves and Pete locks the door behind him, might be the most magical part of the day.

There’s something about it; the way the normal world seemed to drift out the door with every sweep of the broom, the way the magic slowly creeps in when Pete’s not looking, only to notice it when the lights seem to glow a bright yellow that was otherworldly or when the chairs seemed to hover a few inches off the ground but only when Pete is looking from the corner of his eye.

Once Patrick is gone, the room seems even more alive at the knowledge that it doesn’t have to hide itself from those who don’t know about magic; the paintings on the wall moving ever so slightly Pete swears the painting of the birds flutter and the there’s sometimes the faint sweet smell of lavender and peonies coming from the painting of a garden, but Joe always swears that he’s not that advance a wizard for that kind of thing yet. They met years ago, when Joe was only beginning to exhibit magical abilities and Pete was obsessed with Harry Potter and poisonously envious that Joe could do all of those things Pete’s read about (Pete is only comforted by the fact that there is no wizardry school with moving stairways and talking paintings— the jealousy would have killed him). Meeting Joe might be the second most important thing in Pete’s life. Pete doesn’t know the first yet, is saving it for the right time, but he knows meeting Joe is definitely up there, a close, hairline consolation spot, but also, not really because Pete loves the dude.

“Did your friend just leave?” Joe appears where he wasn’t just a second ago, just as Pete finished locking the door, sitting on the counter with his muddy boots on the surface.

“Boots off. I just cleaned that, dickhead.” Pete said, swatting at Joe’s feet. “And his name is Patrick, I've told you that.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Joe replied with a grin, uncrossing his legs and swinging them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pete looked up from where he was inspecting the counter for traces of dirt.

“You’ll have to ask Andy.” Joe replied  cryptically, still grinning, a suspicious glint in his eyes, as he pushed himself off the counter, his heavy boots landing loudly enough for the sound to echo around the empty room. “Anyway, ready to make some magic?”

Pete nodded eagerly and Joe swung an arm around his shoulders as they walk towards the back of the shop. If Pete’s second favorite memory was meeting Joe, the second most magical part of the day might be when they open the backroom.

Because here? Here is where the magic happens. During the day, the backroom is nothing special, it’s dimly lit and filled with boxes, a small couch Joe found in a garage sale where they take turns napping when it’s not their shift, a smell that’s a weird mixture of fresh coffee beans and mothballs, and sometimes it’s littered with dead rats; trophies and dessert for Andy (who had slunk in the room despite Pete locking the front door just now, looking pleased with himself after a day of sunbathing and terrorizing the entire population of Chicago mice).

But at night, when it’s only Pete, Joe, and Andy, the room is alive with something older than them, something Pete thinks he’ll never understand. The room seems to breathe, seems to beat like it had a heart. There’s the neon-purple glow coming from nowhere but was all over the room, bathing the three of them in its light like a baptism, blessing them with the magic Pete only dreamt of having.

“What are we making today?” Pete asked as he sat on the work table, tracing the carvings on the work table that only appeared at this time of the night, still fascinated even though he’s been doing this for years.

“Some of that gold confidence elixirs, we’re running low on those but maybe just half batch. Maybe the baby’s breath mints too, I think it’s appropriate.” Joe consulted his arm, his tattoos seamlessly moving to transform into his work work notes, “There’s a demand for some love potions, so I guess I think we need to make two batches?”

Pete groans and drops his head on the table, keeping it there as he whined at Joe, “Seriously, love potions? For Valentine’s day? It’s like drugging people, Joe.”

“It’s just weak stuff. It’ll be gone after the day, nobody will get hurt.” Joe shrugged in reply and tapped Pete’s head off the table. Pete follows grudgingly but he was still sulking as he crossed to the other side of the room. “Can you grab the rose petals? I think there’s a jar in the ninth cupboard.”

Andy lets a soft, but insistent mewl from Joe’s feet, and Joe peers down at Andy with a frown. “Okay, fine. Check the third one too then. I swear it’s the ninth one, though.”

“Still creepy,” Pete grumbled underneath his breath as he walked towards the seemingly endless row of cabinets, it was almost a corridor in the way it stretched out, no way this could have fit without some sort of magic. Pete reaches in the third cupboard and grabs the bag of white rose petals, chucking them at Joe who easily catches it, “Can’t believe we’re selling out Joe!”

 

Watching Joe cook potions was something Pete’s never going to get tired of. It’s not beautiful like in the movies, Joe’s hair always gets bigger from the smoke, his palms and arms have burn marks from when he fucked up a spell, and sometimes Joe didn’t even know how to say some of the words and would make the most awful, butchering renditions that Pete prays won’t anger some Wiccan higher force and kill them while they sleep.

It’s not beautiful, but Pete still gets a little jealous that Joe was made of magic, and Pete was just Pete.

“Okay, packaging time.” Joe announced when they were done, wearily looking at the intimidating cauldrons staring back at them, lips pursed and his eyes tired. “I was thinking the pink bottles for the love potions? They don’t do anything, but clients love that shit. And the same gold for the confidence ones and for—”

“Actually,” Pete interrupts him quickly. “I was thinking I can do packaging tonight.”

Joe’s mouth, still open from being interrupted, closes as he suspiciously considers Pete. The tension is heavy and Joe remains unspeaking, a small downward tilt on his mouth as he looks at Pete, who’s trying his best to keep still and stay casual. “But you hate packaging.” Joe finally said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, well, so do you.” Pete crosses his arms back. “But I don’t do anything, I just watch you make the potions and grab shit for you— I just want to feel useful.”

Pete’s non-magic wasn’t a sensitive issue— not really, not anymore, but Pete doesn’t mind sinking that low to play the pity card once in a while. It works because Joe is quiet, stroking the ring on his finger, deep in thought. Pete knows he’s weighing the pros and cons of babysitting Pete and making sure all dragon scales stayed intact or being with his actual baby daughter and risk losing some crushed dragon scales for Pete to get high on.

It wasn’t really a tough decision to make.

Joe’s out of his seat immediately, simultaneously getting his coat on and patting his hair to stay flat on his head. Pete manages to hold back cheering and instead settles for dancing a little jig in his head. Joe is grabbing a baby’s breath mint from their new stock when he sternly faces Pete, a dead serious look on his face, “Pete, don’t do anything you know will make me want to kill you.”

Pete clasps his hands behind his back and lowers his head; a who me gesture if Joe would ever believe it. Joe doesn’t, he snorts and gives Pete a quick hug, “Thanks.” he mumbled into Pete’s hair, Joe reeks of sweat and smoke and apple cider, but Pete holds him close anyway. “I know you’re up to something but I love you, you know?”

“I know.” Pete said, smiling at Joe who’s on the way out of the backroom already, the room dying a little as the only magical folk left, lights dimming and the smell of charcoal fading noticeably.

“Good.” Joe said, without looking back. “That’s why I’m leaving Andy to watch you.”

Joe is barely gone for a minute when Andy meows menacingly at Pete before disappearing too, probably to look for dessert in the back alley, leaving Pete to conduct step one of Operation: Get Patrick a Girlfriend.

 

Coffee’s For Closers has only been open for an hour today and Pete is already swamped with the early morning crowd; students from the university across the street, art students from the school even farther away but wouldn’t be caught dead walking into a Starbucks, three-piece suits and pencil skirts littering the store. Pete is sorely tempted to hide in the backroom or find Joe and demand a raise, this had to be unethical or illegal— or at least immoral to make Pete fend for himself at rush hour, fuck their home-y, tiny cafe aesthetic, they weren’t the same indie coffeeshop they were years ago and Pete needed backup.

“Hey, I’m really sorry this is unprofessional but can I just have a second to breathe?” Pete doesn’t look up from the counter, catching his breath from having the most passive aggressive, quiet shouting match with some soccer mom buying Frappuccinos for her kids at seven in the morning. He actually doesn’t care if this is unprofessional of him, if the dickhead in front of him had a problem with it, he can take his fancy leather shoes to Starbucks.

“Rough day?” a familiar voice— Patrick asked sympathetically and Pete quickly looks up to grin at him. Morning sunlight catches Patrick’s face, making him glow, and Pete thinks his eyes are shining like a true-blue-wisdom potion right now; a blue somewhere in-between worn denim and a tsunami, Allie was going to love him.

“Better now that you’re here,” Pete replied a heartbeat too late, batting his eyes and laughing when Patrick blushes slightly, red creeping up his neck to match his red sweater. “Dude, you’re like magic, the line behind you is gone.”

Patrick rolls his eyes as he brings his wallet out, “Or maybe I just waited until you didn’t look like you were going to pass out? You and magic…” Patrick trailed off with a fond look on his face, handing his money to Pete. “Just the regular.”

Pete begins to make Patrick’s usual order (medium White Americano, no water, half-and-half, with two pumps of white mocha, all finished with a long shot of espresso; four times a day) and makes conversation. Patrick talks about this gig he caught the other night, some sort of Prince and Bowie fusion that was way better than it sounded, telling Pete he should catch a show with him sometime. Their early morning conversation, lulled by the sounds of chatter and coffee machines, isn’t that different from their evening company, masked with city smoke and Pete’s occasional cigarette break; for the past year, they’ve followed a script of them exchanging these small snippets of their lives outside the coffee shop, Pete’s gotten to know Patrick almost as much as Joe. Pete doesn’t know why they don’t hang out outside of work, he probably should change that.

But maybe after he sets up Patrick and Allie together. Pete’s discreetly slipping the golden vial of confidence elixir out of his pocket, talking to Patrick about this movie the cinema is showing (Patrick had lit up at the mention of the movie,  _Oh, I heard about that too! I’ve been bugging everyone to watch it with me, but everyone’s busy this weekend...)_. Pete’s not really drugging him, it’s not like with the love potion, Pete’s just trying to help. Or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself and Andy through telepathic communication, since the cat suddenly appeared out of nowhere and decided to start pawing at his jeans.

“Allie’s seated by the loveseats near the front if you didn’t notice,” Pete said casually, as he pours more creamer than usual into Patrick’s cup, he’s never tasted the confidence elixir before but he was sure the combination of sunflower oil and crushed yellow berries combined with coffee wouldn’t be too pleasing. Pete lightly kicks Andy away who began to bite at his ankles. “There’s a free seat next to her.”

Patrick groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, no blush present, “Drop it, Pete.” he replies warningly, eyes now a dead-serious blue.

Pete just winks and looks over Patrick’s shoulder, “Hey, Allie!” Pete shouts from the counter. Allie looks up from the book she was reading, a polite, but irritated look on her face, her eyebrows drawn down and a forced smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes— Pete didn’t care, she can thank him later. Patrick tried covering his face with two hands, he looked mortified. “Patrick was just talking to me about that book the other day! He loves it too.”

Allie immediately beams, grinning widely and eyes dancing (whether it was the mention of Patrick or the book, Pete didn’t know). Allie beckons at Patrick, whose face had shifted to polite interest, patting the chair next to her, eagerly gripping her book. Patrick looks like he’s going to kill Pete before he turns away, shooting daggers with his eyes, squarely directed at Pete, but Pete only smiles as he hands him his coffee.

Andy’s still meowing loudly, whining even more when Patrick’s left to sit next to Allie who was already talking to him excitedly from the sound of it. “Dude, not cool.” Pete tugged his jeans up and he saw angry red cuts on his skin. “What’s your problem?”

Andy doesn’t reply, just growls, eyes angry and he stalked out of the shop with his tail in the air. Pete watches him go with a frown on his face but he shrugs the feeling off, smiling immediately at the next customer, already thinking about the nap he was going to take in the backroom when Joe claims his shift.

 

During Pete’s second shift, he sees Patrick and Allie still there, bodies just a little closer than they were a few hours ago. From the counter, Pete strains his ears to listen to their conversation; they’re laughing a lot, Allie leaning in to listen to something Patrick was whispering into her ear and Patrick kept touching the back of her hand; Pete was feeling a little successful, a high feeling in his stomach like he had just drank a shot glass of happiness potion, gold bubbling in there like butterflies.

Pete doesn’t stop adding drops of elixir into Patrick’s drinks though, no matter how well their conversation was going and how intimate their body language was, nobody was asking each other on a date. Pete’s getting desperate, he’s almost finished the whole bottle by the time Patrick’s ordered his third cup that day.

Just as Pete finished up a Caramel Macchiato order for one of his art school regulars, he sees Allie kiss Patrick on the cheek and beams at him, lingering a few seconds longer, but Patrick doesn’t say a word besides goodbye. When Patrick turns away, Pete sees Allie’s face fall. She had a confused look on her face as she left, somewhere in between shock and mildly insulted, looking like she was wondering to herself what had just happened for the past six hours— Pete agreed with her. Pete might kill Patrick when he gets his fourth cup of coffee, which was right about now.

“Patrick, dude.” Pete scrambles over the counter and pulls Patrick by the collar when he was near enough. “Why didn’t you ask her out?”

Patrick is slow to reply, blue eyes peering at Pete from beneath his fedora, this vivid shade of blue from the elixir. Patrick licks his pink lips and Pete is momentarily drawn to them, forgetting what he was stressed about. There’s a shift around them, almost magic in the way everything seems to just change but still stay the same; Patrick’s eyes are the same true blue as they were yesterday and Pete’s heart was still the same last time he checked (that is, it’s an open door for everyone to love and evidently leave open for the next person), but there’s this roller coaster-drop feeling in Pete’s stomach that is new. It’s rush hour in the shop again; classes and shifts had just ended, there was the frantic chatter of students studying for a final the next day and the quiet lull of others having coffee dates— Pete doesn’t hear any of it for once. Pete and Patrick stare at each other for what feels like forever and Pete’s heart begins to slow down as the noise of the room seems to have trailed off to background noise, the obnoxious yellow fluorescent lights dimming to what feels like a spotlight on Patrick’s mouth.

“I told you I wasn’t interested in her.” Patrick replies quietly and Pete tracks the movement of him swallowing, his Adam's apple bobbing lightly. Pete realized now that he was still clutching at Patrick’s collar and he lets go. Patrick stumbles back a little, still dazed.

“Hi, sorry, but can I have a latte if he’s not going to order?” a girl interrupts next to Patrick and Pete wonders if she’s magic too, Pete swore she wasn’t there a second ago, or had Pete been that focused on Patrick? The girl snaps Pete and Patrick out of the weird haze that they had fallen into and Pete blinks at Patrick who was looking down.

“Yeah, I’m ordering. Sorry,” Patrick apologizes, gaze quite not meeting Pete’s and Pete would think Patrick was staring at his lips if the thought wasn’t so impossible. “Um. Can I have my regular? But for to go this time— some work stuff came up and I gotta go.”

Pete does it, but this time they don’t talk, the only sound between them right now comes from the girl texting loudly on her phone, chewing gum. It’s quiet but there’s a conversation going on between him and Patrick. Pete knows this moment is speaking volumes, but he doesn’t have the words, can’t speak the language Patrick’s talking to him right now, but he feels it, an itch in his brain, a thought that won’t be let go, the way Patrick’s gaze is serious and unflinching, almost heavy, Pete can feel it on his skin and it makes his hair rise.

Pete hands Patrick’s coffee and he’s smiling at him, almost normal, this wide-eyed smile that Pete still doesn’t understand, “Hey, are you free tomorrow?”

The question takes Pete by surprise, Pete feels himself pause, frozen, hand still gripping Patrick’s coffee— this was a weird side-effect of the drugs, the fumes he’s been inhaling ever since he started helping Joe with his secret potion making business was finally taking a toll on his brain. Pete replies, after a second of hesitation,“Tomorrow? Yeah, sure. I get out after—”

“Nine. Yeah, I know.” Patrick beams and he looks so happy Pete is stunned momentarily and has Patrick always shone this bright? Did his teeth always look like something Pete’s wanted to pull out and hide underneath his pillow to make wishes on, dreaming in the shape of his mouth and hoping for magic to visit him while he slept? As Patrick grabs his drink, his fingers lingers on Pete’s own for a heartbeat longer, a second that made Pete’s heart skip a beat, he could have died at that soft contact of skin to skin, the moment could have lasted forever if time could be measured in heartbeats and the absence of them.

It’s only when Patrick flashes one last smile and leaves the coffee shop, the volume louder and the lights brighter now, that Pete finally turns to face the girl. She’s struggling to carry two hardbound books and a bunch of papers but she still manages to put a hand on her hips with an interested expression, it seems that she had understood what had just happened while Pete felt like he was still grasping for Patrick’s hand in the dark.

So Pete did what he always understood: make coffee.

 

That night, Pete’s wiping the tables when he realizes that he wasn’t used to doing this part alone anymore, the store feels emptier without Patrick softly snoring in the corner. It feels like the magic might be gone too; there’s no glitter on the floor, the bathroom lights flicker, the paintings on the wall stay still. It’s quiet but every sound Pete makes echoes around the room and Pete swears he can hear his own thoughts in the dead-silence of it all. Pete’s about to lock up the door, still thinking about the absence of Patrick and their conversations underneath the moon where he seemed to glow sometimes, when he’s interrupted by a call from Joe.

“What’s up?” Pete answers the call, holding his phone between his cheek and shoulder as he struggled with the door, fingers clumsy, no Patrick there to laugh at him or offer to help even though he should. “You’re not here yet.”

Pete doesn’t hear what Joe says in reply because just as Joe had began to speak, Andy walks in with his nose raised, looking at Pete with an almost human look on his face; it was a mocking look Pete was a little too familiar with. Pete makes a face back at him, sneering, his teeth in an ugly grimace, which causes him drop his phone to the floor. Pete swears and Andy makes a delighted purr from deep within his chest as he jumps on the table Pete’s just wiped down a few moments ago. Pete gives him the finger before quickly grabbing the phone from the floor but Andy just purrs again.

“Sorry, sorry,” Pete apologized to Joe, holding the phone properly now. “what were you saying?”

“I was saying, we’re closing early tomorrow. Marie planned this sweet date for us.” Joe’s voice sounds broken and it crackles, either Joe’s signal sucks or Pete probably broke his phone’s speakers or something, he groans internally.

“Date? What’s the special occasion?” Pete asked, distracted as he tries to look for cracks in his phone.

“Dude, I don’t overwork you that much do I?” Joe laughed. “It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow.”

The memory of Patrick asking him out flashes in his mind and Pete feels his stomach drop, it’s the same rollercoaster feeling from a while ago, but this time it’s dark and Pete doesn’t know when it will end, if it will end. Pete can’t process what Joe had just said, his brain the recurring beep of a telephone call where nobody answers:  _sorry, Pete’s brain is unavailable at the moment, try calling back later._  Joe doesn’t seem to mind Pete’s silence because he adds, “You should go on a date with someone too!”

It’s when Andy bites at his ankles, meowing, just like he did earlier, that Pete remembers this morning, this whole day of pouring what he thought was the confidence elixir into Patrick’s drink. The whole day comes crashing in and Pete feels like he’s on the edge of a breakdown. There. There is the drop— Pete feels sick to his stomach, feels like he’s going to throw up over this metaphorical rollercoaster. When Pete opens his mouth, he’s scared vomit will come out but instead, in a tiny voice that Pete can barely call his, “I… uh… I already have plans actually.”

“Oh, that’s cool, man.”Joe sounds like he believes him, not seeing anything wrong with the situation. “Anyway, see you tomorrow, it’s Ruby’s bath time now.”

Pete doesn’t even notice the call ending, still dazed, the telephone cord to his brain cut off, slashed, all signal towers crashing and burning at this exact second where Pete realizes he’s fucked up for real this time.

“Oh my God, what have I done?” Pete moans, dramatically falling to his knees.

Andy jumps back and gives Pete a dark look.  _Meow_ , Andy replies irritably, tail swishing back and forth, licking his paw as if the conversation bored him.

“It’s not my fault! You didn’t tell me I was giving Patrick the love potion instead of the confidence elixir!”

Andy yowls at that, a little outraged, green eyes dilating, claws extending, the fur on his back raising— he looks like he’s going to rip Pete to shreds; Pete might not mind that much if it meant he didn’t have to go on that date with Patrick.

“Andy. What the hell am I going to do? Why else would Patrick ask me to go out tomorrow? ” Pete holds his head in his hands and feels like shit, Pete feels like he’s coming with a fever, his forehead feels warm and he feels sweaty, maybe this wasn’t a fever but some sort of rare disease that will mercifully kill him in his sleep tonight. “He only asked me out because the love potion tricked him into falling in love with me!”

Andy is cruelly unsympathetic, stepping over Pete’s head with a satisfied meow that was directed more to himself than Pete. Andy sits in front of Pete’s crestfallen form, front-row seats, barricade at a concert, VIP viewing to the breakdown of the century, Pete is definitely not imagining the glee in Andy’s eyes.

"Fuck you!” Pete whines even though Andy hadn’t said anything. “You know what? Maybe he just wants to hang out! Like a bro’s night in because we’re both single. Patrick’s straight and the love potion can’t change his sexuality.”

Andy doesn’t reply except for an eerily human roll of his eyes.

“Well, you don’t know shit.” Pete scowls at Andy. “Maybe Patrick doesn’t know it’s Valentine’s day either. I’m not going to weird about this and panic over nothing. I am not being weird.” Pete repeats to himself, massaging his temples for the headache that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, threatening to burst his skull open with the sheer force of it. “It’s just some dudes being dudes.”

Andy makes a sound that sounds like either he’s coughing up a big hairball or laughter— Pete is hoping for the former.

Pete was going to have to tell Patrick the truth.

 

 

  
The next day, Patrick doesn’t go to the shop for his coffee and Pete hopes he might get stood up (although, off the record, there was a weird sinking feeling in Pete’s stomach that made him look toward the door every time whenever someone comes in that he firmly ignores. He is not going to be weird about this). Just when Pete’s thinking Patrick was definitely not going to show up, and was in the middle of trying to figure out how he felt about it, Patrick arrives an hour before Pete is supposed to close.

Pete turns to the door just as Patrick walks in, and there’s this pull somewhere in Pete’s chest when he and Patrick make eye contact. Patrick doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even go to the counter to order coffee, he just smiles at Pete, a smile that was almost shy, and he sits by the seats near the front.

Patrick stays there and this is different from the other times. It’s new because Patrick wanted to be here.

This is the first time Patrick’s not asleep and Pete doesn’t know what to think as he watches him from the corner of his eye, like he was afraid Patrick might disappear if he weren’t in his line of vision. Pete’s on autopilot, only breaking into consciousness when he listens to people order. Pete’s drowning in weird feelings he’s never had around Patrick before. There’s this weird flutter in Pete’s chest, pitter-patter like raindrops on the sidewalk, and he feels like his stomach is in knots. Pete feels like he’s the one who had ingested the love potion, cosmic karma for what he did. Pete could ask Joe if it were possible to inhale the smoke from the potion and let it affect his head, like secondhand smoke and cancer, but Pete can’t really ask Joe for advice at the moment.

Pete doesn’t know if he imagined the smile Patrick gave him when he caught Pete glancing at him, but he can’t be imagining Patrick, physically there, working on his laptop, keeping to himself, texting on his phone, striking a friendly conversation with some of the other regulars.

All the while Pete is still trying to convince himself that what they were doing after was just going to be a platonic dinner, because they’re friends and that’s what friends do; so Pete tries to twist Patrick’s smile into a shape that can’t mean what Pete is thinking of; when Allie leans in for a kiss and Patrick moves away, Pete doesn’t think of kisses on his neck— friends can do that too; whenever they make eye contact, Pete tries to convince himself that Patrick was just looking at the menu and Pete had just been glancing to check on the newest customer to enter.

Pete’s always been a bad liar, he can’t even lie to himself.

When Patrick catches Pete staring for what might be the thousandth time that night, Patrick laughs. It’s this musical laugh, sounds like all of Pete’s favorite songs but in Patrick’s voice, the sound of Patrick’s voice might be what happiness tasted like if it came in a potion bottle.

Pete is fucked. When he tells Patrick what he’s done, Patrick is going to hate him.

 

   
  
When the last customer leaves with their cold brew, Pete counts five seconds in his head before turning around to face Patrick. Patrick is on his laptop, engrossed with work, unaware that they were the only two people in the room right now.

Pete gulps, trying to appease the feelings, he’s going to tell Patrick now. Really, he is. Pete is practicing his lines in his head, wondering if Patrick was going to follow the script that only existed in Pete’s brain; at the moment there were two endings to this story: a.) Pete will confess and Patrick will punch him. When Pete’s head hits the ground, he is mercifully killed and won’t have to deal with the all consuming guilt that was threatening to eat his entire body anyway, or b.) Pete will confess and Patrick will disappear, not in a magical way, not in the blink of an eye, but in the real-world way where he’ll just stop showing up to the shop, and slowly, Pete was going to have to un-remember everything about him.

Pete’s desperately hoping for the former.

“Huh? You’re closing already?” Patrick asks, jumping a little when Pete stands over him. Pete’s mouth is dry and his mind is blank, he didn’t expect Patrick to say anything, that wasn't part of the script.

“Yeah, uh, Joe wanted to close the shop early because of… um, you know, today is,” Pete lets the sentence trail off, looking at anywhere but Patrick; his shoulder, the empty street past the floor length windows, the piece of sandwich wrapper by the floor next to Patrick’s sneakers.

When Pete gathers the courage to look at Patrick’s face again, there’s this dreamy look on his face as he surveys Pete; Patrick’s eyes a little hazy, a dopey smile on his face. Pete feels like he’s going to throw up, this is all because of the love potion, he reminds himself. “Yeah. I’m really glad that you said yes to tonight.” Patrick is shy. “I don’t know what got into me yesterday, I’m not usually so forward, you know? There was just this feeling in me that really had to ask you out.”

Patrick’s voice become softer towards the end, like he was embarrassed. This removes any semblance of what Pete thought was going to be a heterosexual drinking night. “Hey, no, no. No need to say thanks.” Pete comforts him. “I, uh, have really wanted to go out with you too, like outside of working hours, and, um, away from the shop.” It’s not a lie, it’s the truth, but maybe just the truth that Patrick wanted to hear. Pete felt like an even bigger dick when Patrick beams at him, all sunlight and summer.

“So,” Pete coughs, breaking eye contact to look over Patrick’s shoulder again. “What’s your plan for us, Casanova?”

“I actually wasn’t able to plan anything. Sorry, work got crazy yesterday.” Patrick scratches the back of his ear, and Pete is struck at the familiar gesture of nervousness that he’s seen Patrick done so many times, but is different now. Everything is different now, Pete hopes that Patrick can forgive him at the end of this. “I was thinking maybe we could just hang at my place? We can watch a movie and I can cook a mean pasta.”

Pete hesitates before answering, he had been expecting dinner in a fancy restaurant, or even a Mcdonald’s, something that wasn’t intimate. Home cooked dinner in front of the dim glow of a TV was a special kind of intimate, meant for feelings that were truer that what Patrick was feeling right now. Pete opens his mouth and closes it again, trying to find the words to say, trying to apologize to Patrick and tell him he’s going to have to call this whole thing off.

But Pete looks at Patrick and can’t do it. Patrick’s ears are a light pink again and Pete can’t bring himself to break Patrick’s heart like this, he can’t, not when Patrick is glowing pink, biting his lip, eyes darting from the floor to Pete’s eyes, nervous. Pete was going to have to play along.

Patrick seems to notice his hesitation because he quickly said, “I know this is fast— but, it’s you. We’ve known each other for like a year now and I don’t know, I thought it would be okay. We can find a restaurant if you want. Or a bar. or—”

At this time, Pete feels like the worst date ever, the fact that he had drugged Patrick’s coffee and now was being a dick to the poor dude by being picky. Pete answers quickly, before Patrick convinces himself that Pete didn’t want to be with him, “No! No, I was— yeah. Pasta sounds good. I can make, uh, garlic bread?”

Pete is still feeling shitty, gray clouds over his head and he feels like he’s stepped on a puddle, but Patrick smiles, anxiety immediately wiped away from his face, like summer came in the middle of February, and this is the ray of light Pete’s been needing but doesn’t really deserve in the shape of Patrick’s smile.

 

The two of them walk to Patrick’s apartment and it feels weird. Pete’s seen Patrick walk away so many times, it’s a different feeling when he’s next to him, their arms bumping each other, his own hands dug deep into his pockets, afraid what they might do if they were free, while Patrick’s were anxiously picking at the fray of his denim jacket. Patrick keeps pulling at the thread that Pete finally takes pity on him and takes his hand in his own. Patrick’s hand is warm and just a little sweaty, but Pete feels warm inside too, feels like he’s made the right decision even if it wasn’t the correct one; the relieved smile on Patrick’s face made it worth it.

They’re talking, and it’s important in its own way; they’re not saying anything groundbreaking, just debating about this science fiction movie Patrick refuses to watch, but they’re speaking in another language again— tongues twisting around words, while the air says something different. Pete is afraid that he might say the wrong thing, the truth, and lose this moment.

They talk about anything and everything, Pete doesn’t know how they still manage to find new bands to talk about or new memories they’ve remembered when they’ve spent almost every morning and night together.  Pete finds the words coming out easily out of his mouth and Patrick answers back just as easily, lips moving, Pete catches himself wishing that they could just forget the words and do something else with their mouths.

They get to the apartment's front door and there’s this awkward fumbling for Patrick’s keys that makes them both laugh even though there was nothing funny. Pete feels like he’s drunk with this feeling, wonders if this is what a love potion must feel like. The thought sobers him up as he remembers that Patrick had ingested it without consent. Patrick is still laughing, not noticing Pete, who was going through an internal conflict within himself, a turf war inside his own body.

They reach Patrick’s room, and even though Pete’s thought he’s known everything there was to know about him, he feels like he’s learned something new. The room is cluttered with instruments and vinyl records, ratty shoes are thrown around the room like Patrick slipped them off in the middle of walking. Pete can imagine Patrick tripping over these things in the morning and it’s such a quiet, intimate thought, he stops himself before he thought about his own hoodies and socks cluttering the place— this was only for a night, only until the love potion wears off.

“Sorry, it’s a mess.” Patrick apologized but not really meaning it if his smile is anything to go by. “I tried cleaning up a little this morning but I fell asleep in the middle of it.”

“You should see my room.” Pete shoots back, grinning at him.

“Is that an invitation?” Patrick asks, eyebrows raised, a hint of a laugh dancing around the corner of his lips.

They look at each other something happens. It’s like the light keeps catching Patrick and it’s different every time. Patrick underneath the yellow coffee shop lights is the dude Pete’s been talking to for a year, who snores in his sleep while Pete closes for the night, who orders way too much coffee. Patrick underneath the light of the moon and the street lamps laughs way too loud, holds Pete’s hand and rubs his thumb against Pete’s, his fingers calloused because he plays the guitar (Pete doesn’t know how he only found about that now). Patrick underneath the living room lights of his apartment, all small, almost vulnerable, but still teasing, who probably grabs clothes from the floor if they aren’t smelly or wrinkled.

Pete doesn’t know who Patrick sees— if he’s really seeing Pete underneath anything at all, if the love potion was just making him see what he wanted to.

“Hey,” Patrick said softly, walking a little nearer to Pete when Pete hadn’t replied. “it was just a joke. We don’t— we don’t have to.”

Pete doesn’t stop him when Patrick hestitantly rests a hand on his cheek. Pete lets himself lean into the touch, holding Patrick’s hand to keep it there.

“It’s not you,” Pete mumbles, not meeting Patrick’s eyes. Pete never knew it would be this difficult to tell the truth, not when the truth will hurt worse than anything Pete can ever do to Patrick “Sorry I’ve been so weird, some stuff on my mind.”

Patrick ducks his head, trying to catch Pete’s eyes and Pete holds his gaze. There’s a softness in Patrick’s eyes right now, Pete can allow himself to think that the blue ocean staring back at him right now was the same one as two nights ago and not the love potion.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Patrick said with a finality. “Let’s make some dinner to take it off your mind, okay?”

Patrick’s hand on Pete’s cheek turns to briefly squeeze Pete's and Patrick gives him a smile, this shy smile that he’s been giving Pete all night. The touch is fleeting and if this was another life, it would have meant there would be more in the future, but Patrick didn’t know their touches were finite in this one so he retracts his hand. Pete watches him walk away and decides that if Patrick is going to hate him after all of this, he was going to give Patrick the best he could right now. Pete’s going to take what he can get, it’s the shitty choice to do, but Pete’s never claimed to be a good person, he doesn’t know when he’ll have a chance at something good like this, someone like Patrick.

 

 

They end up burning dinner. Patrick was busy singing along to the radio, showing off his lame white boy dance moves for Pete, grinding against nothing and exaggeratedly swaying his hips, more comedic than it was sexy, that they forget the noodles were boiling.

“It’s unsalvageable, man.” Pete said sympathetically, he didn’t know pasta could be burnt like this. The noodles are charred black, almost burned to a crisp, they’re falling apart and turning to ash underneath Pete’s fingers.

Pete turns to Patrick and Patrick shrugs, nonchalant, and dips a finger into the saucepan. Patrick sucks his finger in his mouth, tasting the sauce, deep in thought, and Pete wants to die. “Sauce is still good though.” Patrick announces. “Do you think pad thai will taste well with this?”

“That is the most offensive thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Pete grimaces and Patrick laughs as he wipes his spit-stained finger on Pete’s shirt. Pete swats him away and Patrick laughs harder, eyes shining when the kitchen light catches them; another Patrick, this one eats food with his hands, is a shitty cook, and an even worse dancer.

It takes them an hour to decide where to eat, the tops of their heads touching when they lean to look through Patrick’s stash of takeout menus. Patrick gives Pete a critical food review for each one of them; rating the restaurant in values like place he would take his mom to, nine moons, and the taste of Chicago on his tongue. Pete is distracted by the sound of Patrick’s voice low and quiet in Pete’s ear, it leaves a fuzzy feeling that goes down Pete’s spine and settles warm in his stomach— this feeling is a summer rain falling into Pete’s open mouth.

While they wait for the food, Patrick plays him his vinyl records and Pete laughs at the more embarrassing ones. Patrick isn’t even a little bit ashamed of having greatest hits records when Pete calls him out on it ( _fuck you, they’re the greatest for a reason, Pete!_ ). When Patrick plays a jazz record, Pete recognizes it— Patrick’s talked about it before, told Pete that he listened to it for nine months straight when his grandmother died. The room is filled with the sound of the blues; this blue is a different kind of blue from the one Pete feels inside of him most of the time, this blue was probably the blue of Patrick’s eyes when he’s just woken up; just a little slow, sleep-drunk, soft.

Pete lets Patrick hold him in his arms for just one song, slow dancing to a song Pete’s never heard of, he can’t even understand the lyrics, but there’s something about the song that makes Pete feel like this moment is supposed to mean something between them; not a moment where Pete’s just a little unsure and Patrick is controlled by magic. But Pete lets himself forget for just this one song, inhaling the scent of Patrick, coffee beans and sweat, when Patrick brings him closer; Pete pretends for those three minutes.

When the song ends and Pete pulls away, Patrick is smiling at him and Pete aches, there deep enough he could feel it in his bones, because he knows it’s not really him, it’s just the feeling Patrick is in love with.

Pete can’t blame him, he’s drunk and high off of the emotions Patrick is giving him too. Pete decides to be a little selfish tonight— it can’t be that bad a thing can it? Patrick is smiling and laughing, sounds are coming out of his body that Pete’s never heard, full-bodied laughs that are uncontrolled and unconscious, Patrick is vulnerable, almost this whole entire different person in front of Pete right now. Pete thinks, a little selfishly, as his heart beats a little faster when Patrick leans in closer, that maybe he didn’t have to tell Patrick what he’s done— maybe they could keep pretending for as long as the love potion will let them.

Pete might be imagining things but he thinks Patrick was only a breath away before the doorbell rang, announcing the food’s arrival. Patrick lets go of Pete easily, his fingers brushing down Pete’s arms, a small smile still on his face.

The food is warm in Pete’s hands and it gives him something to do, gives him a reason to hold on to it and not tuck Patrick’s hair behind his ear or to hold Patrick’s hand while Patrick struggles to find a movie that they could watch for the night, fingers quickly skimming through a set of VHS tapes in a cardboard box that was falling apart.

Patrick is the only person Pete knows who still owns a VHS player, his reason being that it was a different cinematic experience. “It’s warmer, dude.” Patrick said seriously as he inserts a VHS of Rushmore he claims he’s owned since he was in high school. “Like, it just feels like it’s more. I swear.”

Pete laughs at him, but agrees anyway so that Patrick would snuggle up next to him, burrowing in the space between Pete’s arm and his side, finding his place there like it had just been made for him. Patrick leans his head against Pete’s chest and Pete knows Patrick could hear the way his heart was beating right now— a broadcast of everything Pete was feeling right now but didn’t have the courage to say. Pete realizes that he doesn’t mind all that much anyway and brings Patrick closer to hear the drum beat of his heart.

“I can’t believe you feel the same way about me.” Patrick mumbles thirty minutes in, so soft Pete thought that he had fallen asleep and dreamt Patrick saying it. “I thought I had just imagined it.”

“What do you mean?” Pete looks down to try to read his face but Patrick isn’t looking back, instead he’s shyly playing with the bottom of his shirt.

“It’s the small stuff,” Patrick admits, now tracing patterns on his jeans, still not looking at him. “Like, this one time, after your shift, we were talking outside while you smoked, and your arm was there, next to mine, and I was waiting for you to pull away, but you didn’t, you kept it there. It just felt like something.”

Pete can’t remember that, there’s been too many nights spent out the shop that they all mostly muddle into different versions of Patrick laughing with his head thrown back or somber and meaningful, where Pete sometimes catches this dark hole inside Patrick that threatens to eat him from the inside. It hurts Pete to think that Patrick can remember something like that and Pete can’t. Pete thinks it would be better to lie and say he remembered it too, what’s one more lie in the grand scheme of things?

Pete opens his mouth, the lie already bitter on his tongue, but changes his mind just as he was about to speak, “I don’t remember that.” Pete said honestly and he feels Patrick deflate just a little bit, going a little limp in his arms, but Pete holds him closer, tighter. “But I remember other stuff, like the way I sometimes get goosebumps when we touch, like there’s electricity and just like, your voice, it gets stuck in my head sometimes like a song on the radio.”

Pete doesn’t know why he would want to lie to Patrick when there was a truth like that.

Patrick shifts to face him, Pete sees something shifts in the way Patrick looks at him. Patrick is looking at Pete, really looking at him this time; it’s not an accident where he catches Pete’s eye or keeps Pete’s gaze to tell him something important or even just a stupid story about a summer he had a decade ago. Patrick is looking at him the way Pete’s felt like he’s looked at him all night; his pupils are a little dilated, the blues rimmed in black, and his mouth is open, like he’s surprised at this realization that this is Pete on his couch right now, that this was happening.

“I—” Patrick’s voice is quiet and dry. Pete sees Patrick struggling to find the right words to what he wants to say right now, Pete is trying to predict what he’s going to say next by reading the way Patrick’s eyes keep darting down, the slight tremor in his hands, his lips sinking into his bottom lip. “Can I kiss you?”

The question catches Pete off guard and Pete would have laughed if this were anyone but Patrick; but that’s just it: it’s Patrick. Patrick who has always been this polite, who came into the shop a year and a half ago, striking a conversation with Pete, asking him what the nastiest rumor he’s heard about himself (which was pretty fucking weird for a first conversation. Pete only found out later on that someone had insulted Patrick’s hat just two minutes before he entered the shop and was upset about it), saying thank you, tipping, and then coming back the next day with the biggest smile on his face even though it was six in the morning. Patrick, who Pete realizes, he might be a little in love with all this time, now that he sees that maybe, Patrick could maybe feel the same way.

The thought is ice cold that stops Pete from moving— because this isn’t real. That’s just it: Pete was only feeling this way because Patrick was interested in him, another possible warm body who can keep him warm then leave.  Pete might love Patrick, if that’s what he’s feeling, if that’s what his heart has been trying to say for the past day, but it isn’t real. And this isn’t Patrick at all, it’s just the potion.

Patrick doesn’t actually feel this way; it’s all just magic and chemicals; too little brain and too much heart; this love was made for movie screens, not for real life, not for people like Pete.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Pete replies, a little too late, just when Patrick’s already leaned in, mouth eager, a smile on his face. Patrick stops in the middle, the space between them that suddenly feels way too big, feels like they're on opposite ends of the world right now; the smile is still stuck on his face, but Pete could see the light dying in his eyes.

Pete leans away from Patrick and almost flinches when he sees the flash of hurt that crosses Patrick’s face. Patrick is confused, Pete understands why, the messages he’s been giving Patrick all night have been leading to the exact opposite of what he just said. Pete wants to tell Patrick that he wants to, that his lips are aching for it, that he wants to taste Patrick, wants to feel Patrick on his tongue, but he can’t.

“Oh,” is all Patrick can say, his voice small while Pete just looks at him helplessly. The room is so quiet Pete can hear his own heart breaking; Pete didn’t think there was still enough of that to break so loud but it does; it’s the sound of stepping on broken glass. “I— sorry, I must have misunderstood. Um. It’s okay, I respect that.”

Patrick awkwardly shuffles into a position facing the TV, his face lit up by the light and Pete can see the tremble of his lip, his eyes looking shinier than they were a few seconds ago. Patrick underneath the light of television is another Patrick: this one’s just had his heart broken, face like thunder, Pete doesn’t know if Patrick was blurring in front of him or if Pete had tears in his eyes. Pete doesn’t know what Patrick meant when he called the VHS warmer, the light is cold and unforgiving on his face.

“I just think that you deserve better than me.” Pete says, even to his own ears it’s a little weak.

Patrick isn’t comforted by what Pete said; throwing a glare Pete’s way, an annoyed scowl on his face. “Listen, I can handle you rejecting me, you don’t have to throw a pity party for yourself to make me feel better.”

“You just think you like me.”

“Pete, seriously, I’m not stupid. I’m a big boy who isn’t going to break. You can stop.” Patrick’s mouth is in a tight line, his eyes serious.

“I’m just trying to explain— you don’t really know me”

“No! You can’t say I don’t know you, don’t know what I’m getting myself into.” Patrick almost shouts, Patrick is exasperated like what he’s saying is obvious and common knowledge. “Because I do. I don’t know everything about you, but I think I know enough. You’ve told me your whole fucking life story— that time you fell and got stitches on the corner of your right eye, what you thought you’d be doing by now, even that fucking parking lot incident. I know all of that shit and I still think you’re fucking magic, but I’m okay with just being your friend, so don’t fucking—

“I fucking drugged you, okay!” there, Pete’s said it. It escapes before Pete could stop himself; instead of feeling like a relief the way some truths are supposed to be, this one is gets stuck in Pete’s throat, the guilt of it all, the shame, is still there. Pete doesn’t understand, he was supposed to stop hurting now.

Patrick is confused and just a little concerned, Pete can see the white fear in his eyes, the way Patrick is coiled stiffly now, afraid of Pete, that one fucking hurt and Pete wishes for anger instead. “What what the fuck? Are you on something?”

“Joe and I make potions at night, when the shop’s closed and I put a love potion we made in your coffee the other day, it was supposed to be a confidence elixir, it was supposed to help you ask Allie out. It was an accident, and now you think you’re in love with me. I’m so, so sorry.” Pete’s voice breaks and he feels like crying. He feels choked up, like he can’t breathe, it’s one of those panic attacks he used to have as a teenager, he hasn’t had one in years, but right now, he feels like he could die here on Patrick’s ugly brown couch. “That’s why you don’t hate me.”

  
“A love potion? Pete are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?” Patrick is looking at him in disbelief, like he can’t believe that Pete was making a joke out of this whole thing. “Did you take drugs?”

Pete slaps Patrick’s hand away when it reached for him, “Listen to what I’m saying! Your feelings aren’t real! You don’t actually like me!”

Patrick still doesn’t look convinced, looks like he still wants to call the police or 911, or a friend to tell them about the weirdest fucking date he’s having right now (he can’t though, not when that friend is supposed to be Pete). Patrick doesn’t look like he believes in love potions and magical boys like Joe, why would he anyway. So Pete tells him something that could be real, something that Patrick can believe in, even if it’s the farthest from the truth.

“I don’t actually like you. I didn’t want to go on this date with you. I just felt bad because—”

Pete doesn’t even get to finish when Patrick interrupts, in a way glad for the interruption because he didn’t know what he was about to say. “Fuck you.” is all Patrick could say, his voice cracked and broken like when Pete accidentally fucked up one of the coffee machines on his first day, grinding and choked up.

There, there is the hurt Pete’s been looking for. Patrick doesn’t even need to tell him to leave, Pete’s already grabbing his jacket and backpack from the floor. Pete doesn’t look at Patrick, not when he hears a strangled inhale come from him like he’s trying to stop himself from crying, not even when he feels the heavy gaze of Patrick on him. Pete manages not to face him until he reaches the front door, Pete hesitates just a second, before turning around to face Patrick.

Pete wanted to say sorry, sorry for all the things he can’t say right now, sorry that he’s not brave enough, but it all gets stuck when he sees Patrick. Patrick is just quietly looking at him, his whole face blank except for his eyes— his blue eyes lost the dreamy, dazed and confused look he’s had all night, this time, it looked a lot like what Pete was feeling right now.

Pete just holds his tears back for a little more before running out the door and out into the city— still alive, too early for something like this. Pete rides a bus, not caring where it ends up going to, maybe he would finally get the courage to disappear.

Pete aches, wishes he never gave Patrick the love potion, wishes he had asked him out for real instead, wishes he figured out his feelings sooner. Pete wishes he gave Patrick the chance to hate him after he’s loved him, for real, a true feeling, not the dreamy look Patrick’s been shooting him all night.

 

Joe isn’t surprised or angry when Pete turns up on his doorstep. He observes Pete for a second, just looking at Pete and Pete wonders what he sees— in Pete’s head, he looked small in his clothes, tear tracks on his cheeks, eyes rimmed red. Pete doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to open his mouth because he’s afraid he’ll start crying again. Joe is silent, but he automatically opens his arms up and Pete burrows himself there; it’s always been like this— Joe’s always been there to clean up Pete. The sadness is still the same, it’s just a little older, cuts a little deeper, and Joe’s arms are different, it had more tattoos and were a little bigger than they were four years ago, but they were still here no matter how many times Pete’s fallen apart.

“I fucked up,” Pete chokes out into Joe’s shoulder, trying to keep the cries in.

“You’ll live, you always say that.” Joe replied, not unkindly, but he squeezed Pete a little tighter anyway. “C’mon, get inside, Marie and I will get the guest room ready.”

Joe’s back is already turned around, ready to lead him inside, but Pete confesses now, unable to meet his eyes later on, “I— I used a love potion on Patrick— but it was by accident I swear.” Pete stops before continuing, waiting for Joe to interrupt him, to get angry at Pete’s betrayal but Joe just turns around and shrugs after a beat of silence, signalling for him to continue. So Pete talks; talks about his plan, talks about Patrick asking him out, the date with Patrick, the feelings that have been brewing inside Pete for the past few nights like a potion. Pete tells Joe everything on Joe’s front porch, moonlight bouncing off of Joe while it stuck to Pete.

“And then, I basically told him he didn’t matter to me, even though I was lying, and I took the bus to your place.” Pete finished, exhausted.

Joe is quiet, like he was still trying to absorb and understand the situation. Joe shrugs and finally asks, “Okay, so if you knew you were lying, so why did you tell Patrick that?”

Pete hesitates before answering but Joe holds his gaze, pulling the confession out of Pete just like he always manages to; not because of magic or anything, but because Joe’s one of the only people Pete’s learned to trust “Because the love potion was tricking him, I had to make him realize he didn’t want me.”

Joe frowns, “I still don’t understand. If you were lying, then what’s the truth?”

Pete is silent, but Joe seems to find an answer with it anyway because he continues, “I think you’re wrong there; I think you decided to hurt him before he could hurt you. Which by the way, is unfair considering the situation.”

Pete opens his mouth to interrupt but Joe raises a stern hand to silence him, “You can’t tell me I’m wrong, Pete.” if Pete didn’t know Joe, he would think Joe sounded tired and would be hurt, but this is Joe, he had a Ph. D. in all things Pete Wentz by now. “I’ve been here for all your shitty heartbreaks. I know you.”

Pete doesn’t look at Joe, feeling tears prick at his eyes, “I’m just so scared.” he whispers, afraid to say it out loud just in case it might come true. “I’m scared that I only started falling for him because he was interested in me.”

Joe is quiet for a second before he exhales, loud, like it was a weight on his chest, “That’s a new development for you, Pete. You don’t actually think that do you?”

Pete shrugs, “It’s true, all the shit I said about deserving better than me? I just— I never really saw him that way until he drank the love potion and looked at me that way. He’s one of my best friends, I can’t hurt him like that when the love potion wears off.”

Joe interrupts him, he looks confused, brows furrowed, “Wait— what? What do you mean you didn’t realize that you liked him until tonight?”

Pete is irritable, “Yes. That is exactly what i just said, haven’t you been listening—”

“Pete, dude. You’ve been looking at him like you’ve been drinking love potions everyday for the past year. I had to make sure at first you weren’t taking teaspoons of it.”

Pete is confused, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Joe looks a little guilty, “I mean like, everyone was just waiting for you guys to get together; there’s been bets going on around the regulars, who will ask who out first and—”

“Joe, what the fuck do you mean?” Pete asks, just a little more serious, a little more desperate, voice rising a little hysterically. Pete’s brain is moving too fast for him to actually understand what he’s thinking, he feels weak inside.

“I mean that, you’ve always acted that way around Patrick— and it’s different from you being friendly, there’s always been something more. You just look— happy, y’know? And like, with Patrick, it’s like, you don’t think he’s there to save you or anything like the things you’ve thought about your exes, it’s like, he just makes you happy.”

Pete can’t breathe. He stumbles back a little like he’s been hit with the full force of what Joe had just said, this invisible collision of everything that’s happened for the past year. Joe is concerned and he reaches for Pete to hold him steady. Pete wonders if Joe can feel him shaking underneath his fingers. Pete feels like he’s vibrating with energy, vibrating with this kind of magic that was pumping in his veins right now.

“So, you mean that I possibly have not been faking it all this time? That I’m just stupid and only realized my feelings for Patrick tonight because I was afraid that he wouldn’t want me back?” Pete asks Joe softly.

“Possibly…” Joe said slowly, drawing it out, thinking about it. “Actually, I didn’t say anything like that but, that sounds right.”

And Pete laughs; he laughs and laughs, it’s more wolfish bark than boy and Joe definitely feel Pete’s body shaking now, relieved laughter spilling out of Pete’s mouth and quite possibly some tears as well. Pete feels his knees go weak, a little overwhelmed, he’s always been a little dramatic. Pete drags Joe down with him to sit on the steps and tries to muffle the laughter into Joe’s chest and hide his tears while Joe soothingly circles Pete’s back until the laughter has stifled into this long exhale of relief, like Pete’s been swimming against the tide all this time and now he can finally stop fighting, the feelings he’s had for Patrick is now what his body is made up of. They’re quiet for a moment, Pete still clinging on even though it didn’t feel like the world was ending anymore and Joe still holding him even though Pete was definitely okay now.

“How come you aren’t mad at me for giving him that potion? Aren’t there wizard rules about it or something?” Pete asked. “I practically drugged him. Do you think he’ll be mad forever? Like, he’ll never come back? I wanna apologize and still be his friend even if he doesn’t feel the same way about me, you know? How long does the love potion last anyway?” Pete asks the questions just for something to say, now that the night was quiet, Pete wanted to fill it again. Joe doesn’t reply immediately, but he ducks his head and stops holding Pete

“Okay, now that you’ve dealt with your own stupidity I have something to confess.” Joe looks embarrassed and genuinely sorry. “The love potion you gave Patrick was um, a fluke. The other night, you got the wrong rose petals, the right ones were in the ninth cupboard like I said, so it didn’t work. People have been calling me all day asking for refunds.”

“So I didn’t— I didn’t—”

“You didn’t give Patrick a love potion. It was just burnt flower juice you put in his coffee.”

“And why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier! I was feeling like the shittiest person ever!”

“You still did it, you can’t blame me! And anyway, the bet I told you… I was betting Patrick was going to ask you out first and— you should actually consider yourself lucky and thank me for making that mistake.”

“Joe!” but Pete is laughing again, because this whole thing was just so stupid, was for nothing— this meant that everything had been real, had been a true feeling. These were true feelings, everything he’s ever felt for Patrick has always been a real feeling. But, if everything had been real then—

“Dude, I need to tell Patrick.”

Joe was calling out to Pete, to stop him and let him wait it out, but Pete’s not that kind of guy, doesn’t know when to quit once he’s started, a bad habit he can’t kick and Patrick is definitely the best worst kind.

 

“Leave me the fuck alone.” Patrick’s voice muffled by the door between them, lacking the venom and anger Pete had been expecting, but had more sadness than Pete thought there would be, it makes Pete at loss for words, heart constricting tight in his chest.

But Patrick is there, talking to him anyway, which was more than what Pete had been expecting. When Pete got on the bus to Patrick’s apartment, Pete didn’t know what would happen when he got there, if Patrick would even open the door for him. Pete hadn’t been thinking, his heart always been a little stronger than his brain. Pete’s got his heart in the palm of his hand, ready to offer it to Patrick, no matter Patrick might do with it.

“Patrick, please let me in.” Pete said, quietly, pleadingly. “And I’m not just talking about your apartment.”

The only response Pete gets is silence, but he knows Patrick is still there, ears pressed to the door, fingers clenching around the air. Pete can feel Patrick from behind the door, like he’s been hardwired to always be aware of Patrick— feeling it in the way his heart never seemed to know if it wanted to beat fast or slow, anxious pulls in his stomach, ears strained, always trying to listen for any sound that came from Patrick.

“Fuck. I probably should have started with an apology first, huh?” Pete said, softly. Pete’s a romantic, just not a very good one at that; all he knew about good love is from eavesdropping on his sister’s conversations on the phone when they were teenagers, all his exes can blame her for that.

There’s silence again, but Pete was going to wait outside this door, wait on Patrick’s steps until he lets Pete in, doesn’t matter if it’s days or months or years. Pete’s going to find a home here on the uneven cement. Pete knows that Patrick will open the door eventually, because there’s something between them that Pete knows is endgame. The boomboxes were missing and Pete had stolen flowers off of people’s gardens, but they’re the ending that every romantic comedy dreams it could be. “I’m sorry.”

“Of course you forget to say sorry, all you care about is yourself.” Patrick’s voice said, and Pete hears the sound of Patrick sliding down against the door. Pete pictures him, still in the clothes from a while ago, a night that feels like it had been forever ago, small, pulling at loose threads. The words would have stung, but Patrick is talking, which means that he’s still giving Pete a chance, Pete points it out, but not unkindly.

“Fuck you, I won’t hesitate to call the cops on you.” Patrick answers back, voice a little clearer now.

“I don’t deserve that chance at all.” Pete continues, like Patrick hadn’t spoken. “and I still think I don’t deserve you. I was stupid and I wasn’t thinking. Actually, I’m still not, but I feel so much, I’m feeling so much for you. I’ve always felt so much about you. On the bus ride back to here, I thought about everything that you make me feel and it’s just— all new to me. These feelings aren’t drowning or anything, I can breathe around you. You’re like my own—”

Pete is suddenly interrupted by the loss of the door holding him upright, his heart skipping a beat as he free falls before stumbling right into Patrick who catches him roughly. Patrick is staring hard at him, bottom lip pink from being bitten too hard, tear tracks still on his cheek, salty blue eyes a pool for Pete to swim in. “I only opened the door because I do not want to hear the shitty asthma metaphor you were going to make.”

“I was saying— you— actually, I don’t know what to say right now, don’t have the words, I only realized everything tonight, but I’ve always felt something—”

“You said that, but you still haven’t explained to me why you said the complete opposite a few hours ago.”

“I’m scared.” Pete admits in an almost whisper, Patrick still gripping him tight, nails digging into his jacket. “You make me scared because I don’t know what to do with these feelings. And I’m so sorry for everything I made you feel, and there’s going to be more of that.

“I’m not going to be easy. You don’t know all of it, but nobody knows half of my issues like you do, and they still ended up leaving me, I can’t— I can’t lose you like that. But if you still want to try— if you still want me then I—”

“You’re not selling yourself very well.” Patrick stops him, face unreadable for a second before it breaks. It’s like the dam has finally cracked and Patrick is crying, silent tears and Pete doesn’t know why everything happens on everyone’s front door, but Patrick lets Pete hold him in his arms.

Pete doesn’t open his mouth, he’s said everything he’s needed to say. Now, he was going to listen, even if the only sounds were Patrick’s quiet, muffled sobs— that was important. Pete grips Patrick tighter, trying to ease all the hurt, all the pain he was feeling in the way Patrick’s shoulders shake and curl in one Pete.

“Let’s get you inside.” Pete said gently, his shirt wet with Patrick’s tears, sticking to his skin.

“Fuck you, you don’t tell me what to do in my own home.” Patrick said, but just for the sake of fighting because he lets Pete gently push him inside anyway, still holding on to Pete. “Bring me to the couch, you’re not sleeping on my bed tonight.”

Pete carefully lays Patrick on the couch where they were just a few hours ago. Pete is ready to pull away when Patrick reaches for him and keeps him there, wrapping his arms around him as he pulls Pete down, “What you said fucking hurt,” Patrick says quietly into Pete’s shoulder, tears staining Pete’s hoodie. “You say you’re scared and you feel too much, but I’m only feeling this way because I’ve let you, because I still fucking want you.”

“Patrick, I—”

“No, shut up.” Patrick snaps but it’s not angry, it’s not at all. Patrick just looks tired, out of breath like he’s been crying the whole night. “I want to know: what made you come back?”

“So. uh, Joe’s a wizard, it’s a sort of side job, just for the extra money but— okay, this sounds fake, you’re not going to believe me.”

“Fucking try me, Wentz. If I can believe that you actually want me right now, then I can believe anything.”

“I do want you.” Pete said earnestly, this piercing pain in his chest that Patrick might believe him, but he doesn’t trust him either, but Patrick has to know, Pete needs him to know. “Everything I said tonight, every time I laughed; those were all real. I’m just stupid.”

“I know that. Well, I think I do. I know the second part, that’s for sure.” is all Patrick said in reply, holding Pete’s gaze. “What next?”

“Joe— he told me just now that um, the love potion I gave you wasn’t anything, just some herbs and water, it didn’t have an effect on you.”

“Love potion, huh? That’s kinda--”

“Fucked up, I know. My goal wasn’t for you to fall in love with me. I just wanted to help you with Allie, It was supposed to be a confidence elixir, but I must have accidentally grabbed the wrong bottle. It was an accident, but it was still shitty. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth from the start?”

Pete shrugged, “I think there was this shitty part of me that wanted to be with you because I knew I had no chance without the love potion. Even now, even if my feelings are real, it still doesn’t excuse what I did.”

“I already told you I didn’t want to be with Allie.” Patrick said quietly, but the  _I wanted you_  hangs in the air. There’s no sound between them and Pete is carding his fingers through Patrick’s hair until Patrick asks another question, “So, if the love potion was fake, then… What? Why do you suddenly like me?”

And the hurt, the sadness in Patrick’s voice Pete— because it’s all his fault that Patrick was doubting himself. Pete buries his head into Patrick’s neck, feeling the tears prick in his eyes. Patrick stiffens and moves to push Pete off of him, but Patrick feels the wetness of Pete’s tears on his neck and he settles for a hand on the back of Pete’s neck instead, keeping him there. Pete is grateful, doesn’t really understand how he could still have Patrick after all this time.

“I do, I do, I do. I’ve always liked you in that way, before I even knew it, I’ve always felt it. My brain’s always been a little too slow and my heart’s always been a little too fast.” Pete said, mouth moving against Patrick’s skin. “I was just so scared. I was scared that I only started to like you because you liked me too, and I didn’t want to take advantage of you like that.”

“Holy shit, we both have a lot of issues.” Patrick said, letting out a soft hysterical laugh and he leans in closer to Pete. “I don’t hate you. What you did was pretty fucking weird, but I guess something good came from it. No more potions in the future though, we’re talking about our feelings like normal human beings.”

“The future?” Pete asked, hopefully.

“I'm going to kiss you now.” Patrick replied, answering the question without really answering it. Pete thinks he might finally understand the secret language Patrick has been speaking in for the past two days, maybe the past year.

Pete hesitates, doesn’t know if now is the right time or if they’re done talking about it, but Patrick rolls his eyes, “Pete, I told you: I’m a big boy, I can handle this. We can talk about this some more next time, there’s always tomorrow, but like I mean, if that’s what you want-- We don’t have to if you don’t want to.

“It’s just,” Patrick hesitated. “I need to know it’s real, I want to believe you, but I just.”

“Patrick, I’m going to want you for as long as you want me-- longer than that, I’m still going to even when you don’t.” Pete whispers, breath blowing over Patrick’s mouth as he leaned in closer.

“You’ve said a lot of stupid things tonight, Pete.” Patrick said, his eyes shining like they always do, mouth in this smile that looked like the sort of smile that Pete’s seen in his dreams, it’s familiar and normal, and Pete knows they were going to be okay. “I think I want you to show me now.”

Patrick stops talking because Pete finally leaned in to close the short distance between their mouths. They kiss and Pete thinks there might have been some magic in Patrick’s drink after all because there was no other way to explain the feeling that washed over Pete; it felt like he’s been missing this all his life and didn’t know until now. Or maybe the magic was in Patrick’s lips, in his kiss, the way his fingers are careful on Pete’s cheek.

“Do you believe me now?” Pete asked Patrick when they pulled away, breathless like he was drowning, his lips aching from the kiss.

“Think I need a couple more to be sure.” Patrick replied with a smile. And this, this Patrick, who was mostly hidden in the dark living room of his apartment, his face barely seen, only lit up by the moon and city lights from outside his window, he might be Pete’s favorite one: no magic, just miracles and eyes that kept changing whenever Pete blinked, the steady beat of a heart underneath his palm.

They make out, slow and without purpose, until Pete falls asleep, until Pete can’t remember anything other than the feeling of exchanging oxygen with Patrick.

 

Pete barely sees Patrick after that night, Patrick's so busy with work he couldn’t even make it to the shop, but they talk to each other on the phone for hours, sometimes falling asleep in the middle of the call and all there is is the sound of white noise and light snores; but the sound of Patrick’s static voice was electricity going up Pete’s spine that made him shiver all over.

Pete wasn’t going to lie, there was still that small part of him that was afraid this was all too good to be true, that once the moonlight fades and the miracles of Valentine’s day disappears, when the phone call ends and his battery dies, everything will go back to normal. The thought would have been okay, but now that Pete knows what it’s like to wake up next to Patrick, normal would be the end of the world.

The next time they see each other was the week after, and when Patrick had walked in the shop, all the anxiety in Pete’s stomach, the tension in his shoulders, the spiders of panic going up and down his back, they all disappeared when Patrick flashed him a hesitant smile from the door.

“Why is everyone staring at us?” Patrick asked nervously when he got to the counter. It was true, all the regulars were looking at them interestedly, no doubt already filled in by Joe about the abridged version of what had happened last Thursday.

“Oh, shit.” Pete replied, and Patrick immediately looks worried. “I completely forgot to tell you, they made this whole stupid bet about us; something about who was going to ask who out first.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow as he hands Pete his money, there’s an amused look on his face and his lips were pressed tightly together like he was trying hard not to laugh “Oh, really?"

“Yeah, and well, uh, I think Joe's one of the people who won.”

Patrick looks guilty, eyes darting down and hand coming up to rub the back of his shoulder in embarrassment, “Um. Okay, what would you say if I told you that I was the one who started the bet so that you’d find out about it and get the idea to ask me out?”

Pete laughs when he sees Patrick’s red face and hesitant smile. Pete doesn’t reply, doesn’t know what to say, so he grabs Patrick by the wrists and kisses him there, in front of the whole store, in front of all the wide eyes and open mouths. Pete feels what must be roses growing from Patrick’s wrists, worlds being born where their lips touch, electricity where their breaths meet.

“So, you’re okay with it?” Patrick asked when he pulls away, breathless, lips red, his mouth in the biggest smile that Pete wants to live in the mountains of his crooked teeth.

“You’re fucking stupid,” Pete mumbled, bringing him closer again, lips thirsty for the taste of Patrick on his tongue again. "But for the record, I think we both won."

Patrick makes a noise that Pete feels shake his mouth, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, Pete distinctly feels the words cheesy and corny and lame on his lips when Patrick moves them, but Pete drowns it all out anyway. Pete kisses Patrick back and maybe he wasn’t magic, can never be magic the same way Joe was, but Pete thinks that right now might be better than magic; this whole thing was a miracle.

**Author's Note:**

> hhh this got crazy out of hand and i almost died trying to meet the deadline but here it is!!! fun fact that isn't really important: patrick's regular drink is my regular drink @ starbucks which i drank almost every day this whole week since i balanced this and uni. now the fun is over and im back to studying organic chemistry :/
> 
> being single sucks so kudos and comments will keep me company this valentine's day lmao thank u for reading and thank u to the mods for making this happen!


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